


Believer

by Bickymonster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Dark Harry Potter, Death, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fire, Gen, Insane Harry Potter, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Mental Instability, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Powerful Harry, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Songfic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bickymonster/pseuds/Bickymonster
Summary: Harry has endured more than he can take, but he had found beauty in the pain. Now he is going to share that beauty with those that hurt him the most.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69
Collections: Bickymonster Harry Potter Oneshots





	Believer

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and heavily using the lyrics of Believer by Imagine Dragons. This has some extremely dark themes and content. Please read the tags and warnings. 

Harry tapped his wand against his leg as he gazed absent-mindedly out the window into the back garden. He was vaguely aware of his Aunt’s horrified eyes on him, of Dudley’s silent tears. But his so-called family had taught him patience the hard way and nothing could make him rush this moment; It had been many years in the making. 

A pained groan drew his attention and, gleefully, he turned to face his family. 

Uncle Vernon was trussed up just like his wife and son. Magic kept the three of them upright, on their knees in the middle of their perfect dining room. With a flick of his wand, Harry silenced his uncle. 

Next to him, both Aunt Petunia and Dudley protested in vain. Uncle Vernon, however, remained oblivious to their silent scream, straining against his magical bindings before his eyes were even open, consciousness slow to return. His face was already turning puce by the time he turned alarmed eyes on Harry. It took several seconds, but Harry saw the moment it dawned, the moment his uncle understood the truth of his unfortunate situation. 

Harry grinned, malicious, eager and broad enough to show teeth. This was had been worth waiting for.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” he remarked. 

Dragging one of the dining chairs backwards across the room, he spun it around and took a seat in front of his family. He gave himself a moment to observe them, safe, for once, in the knowledge that he needn’t fear their retribution. Uncle Vernon was clearly furious; Aunt Petunia, terrified; but Dudley… 

A curious thing; Harry thought he might actually be upset. 

“First things first,” Harry said, turning back to his uncle, “I’m gonna tell you all the words that have been going round and round in my head. I’m fired up.” 

Harry all but jumped to his feet, his body trembling with restless energy. 

“I’m tired of how things have been,” he declared as he approached his uncle. 

He pressed the tip of his wand against Vernon’s throat, running it up under his chin, tilting his head up to meet his eye. Vernon jerked his head away, his expression furious, but Harry continued to smile at him, knowing there was nothing more this man could do to hurt him. Magic put him in charge. 

“Second things second,” he said, crouching down to Vernon’s level, his expression abruptly serious. “Don't you ever dare tell me what you think I can be. I'm the one at the sail, I'm the master of my sea. The master of my sea,” he repeated softly as he stood back up. 

“I was broken from a young age,” he told them. 

His gaze drifting to the cupboard under the stairs, the tormented memories of his childhood echoing in his mind. He longed to write, to find the journal Hermione had gifted him and put his hurt into words, but there would be time for that later. He would take his sulking to the masses, he would write his poems for the few who might understand. 

“Look at me. See what you took from me. See how you shook me,” he whispered but even with his back to them, he knew they hung on his every word. He hoped just once they might feel him. 

“But here I am,” he declared joyfully, turning back to face them once more. “I’m singing from the heartache.” 

He pressed his wand against Uncle Vernon’s throat once more, looking him in the eye before cutting into his flesh with a muttered spell and a sharp motion. Blood spurted from the artery, splattering Harry’s right arm and the carpet beneath them. Besides them, Petunia and Dudley fought futilely against the magic holding them still and silent. But Harry only had eyes for Vernon, who was already growing pale, his eyes wide with realisation. 

“I’m taking my message from the vein,” Harry told him, even as Vernon lost consciousness, only magic keeping him upright. “I’m speaking the lessons from my brain. Seeing beauty through the pain,” he said softly, trailing a finger through the blood that now soaked Vernon’s front, 

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain _

_ My life, my love, my drive, it came from... _

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _

Aunt Petunia and Dudley had clearly needed a moment in the wake of Vernon’s passing, and Harry had been more than happy to allow it. He wanted them to hear him after all, and the silent hysterics made it hard to keep their attention. So he had retreated to the kitchen to give them some privacy in their grief and used the time to make himself a sandwich. 

His appetite satiated, Harry returned to the dining room, sparing only a glance for the mess Vernon had made, knowing it would not matter. 

Instead, he turned his attention to his aunt. Though both her and Dudley were already watching him with wide eyes. Aunt Petunia’s face was blotchy, her eye’s red and puffy, her cheeks tear-streaked. She still seemed to be struggling to regain her composure, though Harry was not convinced she was putting in much effort in that regard. 

He noticed as he approached, that her fear seemed only to have grown but Harry was not to be dissuaded; after all, his own fear had never earned her hesitation, and he had important lessons to teach. 

“Third things third,” he said softly, as he crouched down in front of her. “Send a prayer to the ones up above. I know this was not all your doing.” He ran a blood-stained finger down her cheek, ignoring the way she flinched away from him. “All the hate that you've heard has turned your spirit to a dove.”

He moved quickly this time, slitting her throat in a single broad stroke. Blood soaked them both in seconds as the life vanished from her eyes. 

“Your spirit up above,” he whispered as a prayer. 

Harry sat down on the floor, shuffling back until he was resting against the legs of the chair he had moved earlier. He half-heartedly wiped his hands against his jeans, cleaning them of the worst of the blood, and turned his attention to Dudley. 

His cousin was crying. Though not the hysterical, uncontrolled sobs of before. His mouth remained closed as tears fell unbidden, his eyes glazed as he stared unseeingly ahead, as though avoiding the sight of his parents on either side of him. Not that he was looking at Harry either. But that was only, Dudley had already seen enough.

Harry wanted to write, wanted to put his words on the page, as Hermione had taught him, but Dudley needed him, so he spoke, the poetic attempts at explanation falling from his lips. 

“I was choking in the crowd, building my rain up in the cloud, falling like ashes to the ground, hoping my feelings could be drowned. But they never could. They were always there, living, ebbing and flowing within me. And I was inhibited, limited, until now…”

Dudley turned to look at him, confusion etched upon his every feature.

“It broke open,” Harry whispered reverently. “It broke open and rained down.”

Purpose flooded him and he all but jumped to his feet, turning on the spot as he took it all in one final time. He closed his eyes and allowed a sense of serenity to wash over him. 

“It rained down,” he declared as he drew his wand. 

Sparks flew from the tip, finding purchase against every surface. The sparks quickly turned to flames, a rapidly growing rumble of fire filling the quiet room. 

Harry met Dudley’s eye, before turning to leave. 

However, he hesitated for a moment in the doorway, before making a decision, and with a flick of his wand, he released his family from his spells, the soft thunk on their bodies against the carpets confirmed it. 

“Mummy!” Harry heard Dudley exclaimed, as he continued on toward the front door.

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain _

_ My life, my love, my drive, it came from... _

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _

Harry waited on the front lawn. 

They had an audience now, various neighbours making their way out to see what was happening as the flames rolled out the living room window and singed the outside of the house. But none of this mattered to Harry. He was waiting for one thing. 

It took several long minutes, the emergency services growing audibly closer, but Dudley stumbled from the front door, soot-covered and gasping for breath. He stumbled falling to his knees on the driveway, tears falling once more. Or maybe they had never stopped.

Harry waved off the few neighbours who tried to rush to Dudley’s aid. His cousin was his to deal with, and they weren’t done yet. He approached and crouched down in front of Dudley, his cousin slowly lifting his head to look at him. His expression was pleading and desperate.

“Why?” was all he asked, his voice raspy and quiet. 

Harry just smiled. 

“Last things last,” he said calmly, hauling Dudley to his feet. “By the grace of the fire and the flames, you're the face of the future, the blood in my veins. It’s you and me now, we get to teach our lessons to the world.”

“I don’t understand,” Dudley told him, trying to pull away from the vice grip Harry held on his arms. 

“Don’t you see?” Harry asked eagerly. “It never stopped, always living in me, ebbing and flowing. But I was inhibited, limited, until it broke open and rained down. And now I know it was meant to be. This is how I become what I was always meant to be. This is how we save the world.”

“How?” Dudley questioned, uncertain and trembling. 

“We’re going to give everyone a chance to learn from the pain,” Harry told him, flashing him a maniacal grin before disapparating them both away. 

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer _

_ Pain! _

_ Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain _

_ My life, my love, my drive, it came from... _

_ Pain! _

_ You made me a, you made me a believer, believer _


End file.
